


Playing for Keeps

by remnantmachine



Category: Transformers Generation One, Transformers: Shattered Glass
Genre: Drug Use, M/M, Needles, PWP, Sticky Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-26
Updated: 2012-03-26
Packaged: 2017-11-02 13:21:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,396
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/369416
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/remnantmachine/pseuds/remnantmachine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>SG First Aid comes across G1 Vortex, and finds something he likes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Playing for Keeps

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ultharkitty](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ultharkitty/gifts).



> This is an SG!First Aid/G1!Vortex story.
> 
> For spacehussy and ultharkitty

First Aid ran black hands up the sides of the panting copter. Wrapped them around the neck before him. This mech was so different from the Vortex he knew. So much more open and wanting despite the fact his desires were darker, considered illegal to most. Or maybe because of that.

First Aid shrugged to himself, turning the movement into a slide against the grey form before him as one of Vortex’s hands ran along the inside of his upper tire rim. Fingers traced the edge with deceptive softness.

Deceptive. Decepticons. It was all in the name.

The hand flicked to the edge where tire met metal. A flash of a smirk beneath a red visor. The hand curled, fingers dug into the join, tugged the rubber, pulled it painfully from the metal. His tires were pressure set. They weren’t supposed to pull like that. 

Pain exploded across his sensor net, and First Aid arched into it. Pain was real. A reminder of the truth of this reality.

“Like that, do you?” Vortex whispered against First Aid’s audial. The heavy engine of the combat helicopter thrummed against his systems.

The ambulance chuckled. “Yes.” The word was drawn out, teased into being as First Aid casually prepped a code trigger hidden in his wrists. “But not as much as you’ll like this,” he whispered.

A copter was still a copter. No matter the realm.

First Aid tilted his hands and pressed his wrists to the cabling of Vortex’s neck. The needles hidden in his wrists spun outwards, barbed tips burrowing into the tubes before the statement could register with the copter. First Aid grinned, mouth splitting wide. Pulling his hands back, ignoring the slight sting as the nematocyst capsules - empty and drained - were pulled from their shells, he spread his arms outward and arched against the form before him.

Vortex’s engine dropped into a lower gear. Power over speed. The sound pulsed heavily through First Aid’s lighter armour, pushing vibrations deep into his systems. They began syncing automatically; preventing damage by pulsing _with_ the rhythm rather than against it. 

The red visor before him was a vivid slash of colour. Brilliant, angry, and full of power. It stained the greyness around him, bleeding colour into a world tainted black and white. First Aid felt his armour flare in arousal. “Here,” he gasped. “Share with me. Let me show you reality.”

Vortex growled angrily against him as the poisons took, the sound guttural. His smaller frame was shoved backwards against a wall. Metal shrieked, a harsh counterpoint to the deep bass First Aid was trying to drown in. He didn’t like that. He opened his mouth to complain and it was invaded with warmth and slickness. Red engulfed his vision and bass wrapped around him, tingling sensors across his frame. Shifting his priorities easily, he braced himself against the wall and swung his legs up to wrap around Vortex’s waist. He ground his pelvic span across Vortex’s abdomen, begging without words for the copter to take the next step.

Instead of pursuing the motions, Vortex pulled back. “What… was that, little bot?” His hands ground into the metal of First Aid’s collar, scratching and denting. “What did you give me?”

First Aid keened. Delicious pain spread across his system, spinning in electric arcs from the stressed plating of his collar. His head thumped against the wall behind him as he bared his neck. Shaky hands rose to twist in Vortex’s rotor mount. “Nothing you don’t like.” The fact Vortex could still reason was impressive. Most mechs aboard the Ark had either melted into a heap of slag, or slammed into his valve as soon as they could free their spikes. This was different. And not what he wanted.

Vortex’s frame was hot against his, fans roaring as the metal’s temperature continued to rise. “You know you want to. Do it. Join me.” In frame. In heat. In pain. In _life_.

Jamming two fingers roughly into a joint he knew led to a main energon line, First Aid pulled. 

Vortex flinched into the motion. Chasing it. “So persuasive,” he gasped. Twisting his hands, he cracked the metal he was holding. First Aid’s scream was swallowed as Vortex leaned down and captured his lips again. 

First Aid could feel it when Vortex let go of his collar, could feel the metal warping further as it had to unbend from around Vortex’s fingers. He whimpered, feeding the sounds to Vortex. And the copter took them all. Consumed them. Pulled more from First Aid than any had asked in a while. 

Pain and pleasure chasing one another higher and higher, spinning on a knife’s edge. What was pleasure, without pain to show it in light? What was pain, without the sweet taste of pleasure? They pulled and tore at one another, scratching and kissing, dragging pleasure from every recess.

First Aid’s processing threads shattered as soon as they formed. The only thing grounding him and keeping him from spinning into a delusion was the forceful presence of the copter above and around him.

First Aid rotated his hips again, feeling each overlap in the abdominal armour with his thighs. “Please,” he begged, static edging the sound. “Please, please, please.” He ran his hands over and around every joint he could feel, pushing erratic sonic pulses into them.

“Only because you beg so pretty, little bot.” Vortex said. There was a snick, lost in the sound of roaring fans and engines, but First Aid didn’t need to hear it to feel the hot spike pressing eagerly into his aft plating. “Open. Now.”

There was no thought of denial. His interface cover slid back, spilling lubricant against Vortex. It was warm from his internals. It ran a teasing line down the back of his aft, following the curve of gravity and making him shiver. A hand on his back tilted him, pulled him forward so his helm rested against Vortex’s shoulder. Warmth, pressure, invasion. First Aid keened, shifting and pushing to get Vortex in.

His optics tracked the shivering of Vortex’s rotors. Watching them as they twitched, static jumping from one to the other along the hub.

Grey, grey, grey. He frowned.

Ignoring the sharp spike of pain from his back strut, he twisted so his head was back in front of Vortex’s. Red speared into red. Colour. Grinning happily, he rolled his valve calipers along the spike inside him. “This.”

Vortex grunted. Shifting him again, First Aid was handled back against the wall, higher this time. Vortex’s visor pressed against his own. His mouth mere inches from First Aid’s. Ventilation mingled. A mockery of closeness and care.

A rhythm was set. Harsh and slow. Thrusting in with one smooth movement that blazed across the sensor nodes, then pulling out with a slowness that had First Aid clenching anything he could grab. He broke a fuel line in the copter’s back. Tertiary, his scanners told him absently, so he dismissed the thought. He would fix his partner later.

Overload, when it came, was heady. His valve clenched, vise-like, on Vortex’s spike. Pleasure flared across his net. Once from his interface unit, and then from his ember chamber as it reverberated with the charge. Vortex’s discharge filled him, pressing in all the right ways. His optics whited, drowning the world.

First Aid came back to the sight of red. Calming bright red. 

He was also on the floor – back pressed to the wall still, valve rim on the cool metal floor, and legs thrown over Vortex’s thighs. Lubricant and energon dripped to a puddle below him. It was comforting.

“Going to tell me what you gave me now, little bot?” Vortex asked, a hint of steel in the bright tone.

First Aid hummed noncommittally, fingers absently reaching out and repairing breaks he had caused. Dropping his helm, he leant forward to reach around Vortex’s frame. This Vortex was so much more fun than the Vortex he was used to. Spinning his fingers, he hid his smile in Vortex’s neck cables. It was a matter of seconds to inject the copter with the vial from his subspace. He was keeping this one. 

Leaning back again, he gazed at the copter. His. A red visor bore into his own, pushing First Aid to answer the earlier question. “Now where would be the fun in that?” he replied.


End file.
